


so put it on me (talking body)

by figure8



Series: that’s the kind of love [2]
Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Graduate School, Idiots in Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Wall Sex, but i wanted you guys to know, i guess?? it’s gyuhao, mingyu is a hot TA! THAT on the other hand has no relevance, now THAT’S the most relevant tag in this mess, yes this is pwp YES the grad school tag is relevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 10:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17547695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: Mingyu’s boyfriend is dangerously sleep-deprived and refuses to go to bed. Desperate times call for desperate measures.





	so put it on me (talking body)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knightspur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightspur/gifts).



> happy birthday, nerd <3 
> 
> this could be, technically, set in the same universe as [lay me down tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211096). that’s absolutely irrelevant to the plot, but i thought the world should know

_Bed, stay in bed_  
_The feeling of your skin locked in my head_  
_Smoke, smoke me broke_  
_I don’t care, I’m down for what you want_

 

It goes like this: on Sunday evening Mingyu stops Minghao from taking a sip out of his dirty paint-water instead of his mug of blackberry tea. In Minghao’s defense, both cups were white. That’s pretty much where the defense ends.

By Tuesday afternoon, Minghao has spilled red acrylic paint on their beige carpet twice, forgot to eat lunch _and_ dinner on the same day, and almost brained himself walking into a door three times—that Mingyu _knows of._ Minghao says the third time is debatable, but even if he were right—and he isn’t, Mingyu _warned_ him that he couldn’t hold the front door open with his hands full of groceries—that’s two times too many.

“If you don’t go to sleep _right now,”_ he threatens, although he knows he doesn’t sound very threatening, especially considering he comes bearing gifts, “I’m going to literally knock you out.”

“I can’t afford sleep,” Minghao says, not even raising his eyes from his palette. He probably notices the smell of food, though, because he does end up turning around, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he sees the tomato soup and grilled cheese Mingyu is carrying on the bright pink serving tray they impulse-bought at Ikea the last time they were there for something that definitely wasn’t bright pink serving trays.

Mingyu takes a deep breath. Murdering Minghao would be counterproductive.

“You know what else you can’t afford?” he asks. Minghao _mmph_ s absently around a mouthful of bread. He’s back to painting. “Hospital bills. I can’t follow you everywhere, and at this rate you’re going to end up walking into traffic.”

Minghao glares at him, but he does it without actually looking in his direction. It’s very impressive. “I would never walk into traffic, I’m not an idiot.”

Mingyu huffs. “No, you’d need to get out of the apartment for that.”

 _That_ earns him a kick in the shin. Then Minghao returns his full attention to his canvas. It is, at that point, extremely clear he is not going to take a nap.

 _Well,_ Mingyu tells himself, _at least he’s eating._ Small victories.

 

:::

 

Mingyu tries everything short of actually roofying his boyfriend. From literal supplications to whining to playing relaxing music in the living room—and for that last one he gets a _shoe_ thrown at his head, his only saving grace the lifelong experience of being an older brother. Minghao is in a terrible mood, but Mingyu isn’t even sure it’s the sleep deprivation. In fact, although obviously the lack of sleep doesn’t help, it most likely isn’t. Minghao has been talking to himself a lot, these past few days. Mingyu caught a few mentions of llama farming in the Andes. That, and a _lot_ of ugly words about Art School and terrible life decisions.

At some point, Minghao’s trembling, tired hand betrays him and his brush slips, and he groans “Oh, _fuck_ me” loudly, and Mingyu reflexively mutters _I wish_ to himself. They haven’t slept together—in the literal and figurative sense—since Minghao started working on this project.

Which gives him an idea.

 

:::

 

He makes sure to enact his plan at a time where Minghao is well fed and the most likely to actually sleep until morning once Mingyu puts him to bed. Minghao doesn’t even flinch when Mingyu sneaks up behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest. Draped over Minghao’s back like that, it’s easy to bury his face into the crook of Minghao’s neck, plant soft kisses to the warm skin there. Minghao squirms but doesn’t pull away, as expected. He’s never been able to resist neck kisses. After a few seconds he tilts his head to the side to make it _easier_ for Mingyu, and Mingyu can’t believe he did not think of this before.

Unsurprisingly, his glee is short-lived.

“Mmmh,” Minghao exhales, hand reaching up to scratch Mingyu’s scalp tenderly, “Missed you. But I need to work, baby.”

Mingyu drops his forehead to Minghao’s shoulder. “Please.”

“I swear I’ll make it up to you when I’m done with this shit,” Minghao promises. He sounds pained about it, too, and Mingyu’s heart clenches. He kisses his shoulder through the thin cotton of his shirt. Minghao sighs.

Mingyu stays there, even if the position is uncomfortable. He’s half-convinced that his plot failed, but Minghao is warm and he smells good and Mingyu _missed_ him. He knows Minghao comes to bed, he has to sleep _somewhere,_ but he crawls into their room way after Mingyu has started dreaming, and he’s gone in the morning. Mingyu has started to feel his absence like an ache. This, Minghao’s back against his chest, Minghao’s hair tickling his cheek, it’s good. The proximity alone makes heat bloom inside Mingyu’s ribcage, spreading like wildfire. It’s want—he always wants Minghao, has wanted him since Freshman year of college, almost six years ago, when Minghao’s Korean was still terrible and Mingyu didn’t know how to talk to pretty boys. It’s love, too—and that came later, but it’s been long enough now that Mingyu isn’t embarrassed by it anymore, murmurs it freely.

Of all things, it’s that, apparently, that breaks Minghao’s resolve. Mingyu doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. One _I love you_ whispered against his pulse and Minghao is setting his brushes down, turning his head to kiss Mingyu on the mouth, deep and languid. Mingyu tightens his fingers around Minghao’s shirt reflexively, lifting it a little unwillingly, revealing a sliver of skin. It’s easy, then, when their mouths part, to slip his hand under, run his palm over Minghao’s abs. Minghao shivers, seeks Mingyu’s lips with his again. The second kiss is just as slow, but it’s a tad filthier, igniting a different type of fire low in Mingyu’s belly, immediate desire. Minghao grunts against his mouth, tugs at Mingyu to get him to come stand in front of Minghao’s high stool instead of behind it. Mingyu follows easily, and as soon as he’s settled between Minghao’s spread legs they’re making out again, Minghao’s arms around his neck like they’re teenagers at prom in an American movie.

Mingyu likes the sounds Minghao makes. Breathless gasps, quiet moans, quivering calls of Mingyu’s name; they’re acquainted with each other’s bodies well enough by now that Mingyu doesn’t even really have to think about it, instinctively knows where to bite and lick and stroke to elicit the ones he wants. For now that means Minghao shirtless and Mingyu’s mouth attached to his collarbone, sucking a bruise right under where the collars of most of Minghao’s shirts fall. Barely concealed marks, claims that no one can see, but that _could_ be seen, those are Mingyu’s favorite. It’s like exhibitionism, kinda. He’s not _really_ into that, but he likes the idea—he likes the implications. It comes with the territory, he thinks, of having been in love with his best friend for a long time while believing he would never get to keep him. Sometimes when they’re outside Mingyu links their hands together for the thrill of it, because it’s not explicit enough to put them in actual danger but it does make people _wonder,_ and Mingyu has accepted he wants people to wonder. He’s wanted people to look at them and think, _they’re together,_ since before they were—well. Together.

“Baby,” Minghao says shakily, when Mingyu puts his mouth lower, fingers carding through Mingyu’s hair. Mingyu knows that tone, doesn’t need actual words to read it.

“No,” he says, breath hot on Minghao’s chest, “Let me take care of you tonight.” Minghao makes a strangled, low sound at that.

“Okay,” he says. His eyes are dark, but they’re also fond. Mingyu sinks to his knees.

He makes quick work of Minghao’s belt and zipper, even if Minghao petting his hair is distracting as hell. Minghao, in general, is very distracting; in a way Mingyu feels _should_ have passed with time, but hasn’t. He still catches himself staring, at the most inopportune times. The most notable, he thinks, was when Mingyu’s parents were in town and insisted on having dinner with them at the sort of fancy restaurant neither of them can afford on their own, and at the end of the evening his mom pulled him aside and asked him if he was in love.

He was. He is.

This is still foreplay, so Mingyu isn’t really going for efficiency. He places one hot kiss high on the inside of Minghao’s thigh, and then he laps his tongue up the underside leisurely, looking up at Minghao through thick lashes.

“This truly is your best angle,” Minghao jokes affectionately as he watches Mingyu unhurriedly suck on the tip of his cock. For that Mingyu swallows all of him down without warning, delighted when Minghao’s laughter turns choked. His hand drops from resting on the top of Mingyu’s head to cradling his jaw, and when Mingyu’s mouth slides back up he moans loud and fractured.

He bobs his head up and down a few times like that, sucking in his cheeks, the rhythmic squelching sound characteristic of a sloppy blowjob loud in the otherwise silent small living room. The pulsing erection that’s still trapped in Mingyu’s jeans is starting to border on painful, and he closes his eyes furtively, grinds the heel of his palm against it through the rough fabric for some relief. Minghao notices.

“Want my help with that, honey?” His voice is hoarse and wanting. “Want me to fuck you?”

Mingyu pulls off, breath coming out short, a sticky string of saliva and precome still connecting his bottom lip to the head of Minghao’s cock.

“No,” he says, licking his lips. _His_ voice, on the other hand, just sounds ruined. He’s glad classes are over for the week. “I said I’m taking care of you tonight.”

Minghao’s eyes widen, but he’s smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu repeats, pushing himself up to stand between Minghao’s legs again, grimacing at the dull ache in his knees. Worth it. They share a messy kiss, Minghao not caring where Mingyu’s mouth has been, all teeth and tongue. “Legs around my waist,” Mingyu pants when they break apart, “I have an idea.”

Minghao obliges, throws his arms around Mingyu’s neck for support, too. He yelps when Mingyu picks him up, and then he’s giggling, giddy.

“You’re serious?”

“You’re tiny,” Mingyu says, hoping Minghao can’t hear the light strain in his words. Minghao _is_ lean and much smaller than him, but he’s also _all muscle,_ much heavier than he looks. Still, Mingyu works out too, and it’s not that hard to carry him to the other side of the room, until Minghao’s back thumps gently against a wall. Minghao stops chuckling then, kisses him again, gaze hungry.

“Gonna fuck me against the wall, big boy?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu rasps. “Yeah, fuck, if you let me.”

“Of course I’ll let you,” Minghao says, honey-sweet. “I want you in every way there is.”

“That’s so fucking corny, Hao,” Mingyu groans. “You’re killing my boner.”

Minghao uncrosses his legs, slides down carefully until his feet are back on the ground.

“Nothing can kill your boner,” he cackles, “I would know.” He kicks his pants the rest of the way off. “Do you have stuff?”

Of course Mingyu has _stuff._ This was a planned attack, after all. He takes the condom and the two packets of lube out of his back pocket and shows them to Minghao with a grin.

“My boy scout,” Minghao smiles.

Prep is a slow affair, but then again, most of what they’ve been doing tonight has been. Minghao doesn’t bottom often, and the last thing Mingyu wants is to hurt him, so he takes his time, probably to the point of teasing. Minghao grits his teeth through it, doesn’t beg even when it’s evident he’s yearning for _something,_ teeth digging into his bottom lip, head thrown back against the wall, one leg hitched around Mingyu’s waist again. Mingyu doesn’t know where to look, between the elegant curve of Minghao’s bared throat, his reddened but beautiful face, expression intent, and where Mingyu’s fingers are disappearing inside him. During sex there is no shame, not between the two of them at least, so Mingyu lets the words slip out, more earnest than he’d allow himself to be normally. _You look so good. I want you so much. I want you so much I could die._ And _I love you, I love you,_ three kisses as punctuation, strategically placed—Adam's Apple, chin, mouth.

Mingyu likes getting fucked. Loves it, if he’s being honest, loves having Minghao on top of him most of all. But this, he thinks in a haze as Minghao sinks down on his cock, this is good too; this is perfect, this is great. The tight heat is overwhelming, and the noises Minghao makes, those are overwhelming too. He rarely sounds like that in bed, always so carefully controlled, always grunting more than moaning. But they do this sometimes, and Mingyu’s favorite part is getting Minghao to let go. The one time he let Mingyu fuck him with a vibrator he ended up _whining,_ and Mingyu still thinks about that sometimes. Many times. Usually when he’s jerking off.

“You can go harder,” Minghao tells him, both hands grabbing Mingyu’s shoulders for purchase.

And this was the whole point, right? Fuck Minghao so hard he has no choice but to go to _sleep._ So Mingyu hooks his hands under Minghao’s thighs and lifts him off the ground, presses him into the wall. They moan together, forehead to forehead, breaths coming out harsh. Eyebrows furrowed, biceps flexing, Mingyu concentrates on the way his cock slides in and out of Minghao’s body as he drives himself in faster and faster, Minghao jolting against the wall with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Minghao gasps, nails digging into Mingyu’s shoulder blade, the snap of sharp pain shooting straight to his dick, “ _Ah,_ fuck, baby—”

“I need to,” Mingyu says, but then he can’t formulate his thought, a little dizzy with the combined sensations—the burn in his arm muscles, the flames licking at the base of his spine, the tense coil in his gut, so close to snapping. “Hao, are you close? Touch yourself.”

And Minghao does, wrist working at a furious pace, his moans almost hiccups now, his other hand gripping Mingyu so hard Mingyu knows there will be bruises tomorrow. Minghao is _bouncing_ on his cock now, and Mingyu’s vision is blurring, his eyelashes fluttering.

Minghao comes first, clenching around him, back arching, balled fist shooting up to bang against the wall—and God, the _neighbors._ With the way they’ve been bumping into that poor wall, it’s a miracle no one has called the cops, Mingyu thinks hysterically. His own orgasm hits him and the bubbles of laughter in his throat turn into a strangled moan, body shaking.

Minghao grimaces when Mingyu pulls out, and Mingyu winces in sympathy.

“Babe,” he tries warning his boyfriend, but before he can finish his sentence his arms give up, and both him and Minghao slide to the floor pathetically, laughing. Minghao curls his fingers around his nape, mashes their mouths together for the sort of kiss they only share after sex, lazy and messy. Then he buries his nose in the crook of Mingyu’s neck and mumbles something that vaguely sounds like _I love you,_ and then—

And then nothing. Because he’s drifted off.

 _Holy shit,_ Mingyu thinks, a little dazed, _I did it. I literally fucked him to sleep._

 

:::

 

In the morning, when the sun rays filter in through the half-shut blinds, Mingyu rolls around and knocks against another body. He blinks, confused, before snapping awake fully and remembering who he is and where he is and what year it is, and all that.

“You’re still here,” he tells Minghao in lieu of _hello,_ delighted. Minghao yawns, stretches like a cat, knuckles bumping against the wooden headboard.

“Yeah,” he grins. Mingyu is so happy to see him he doesn’t even grimace at the whiff of morning breath. “Good job.”

Mingyu frowns. “You knew?”

Minghao chuckles lightly. “That this was a ploy to get me to not leave this bed for ten hours straight? _Please._ I’m not that dumb, even running on only three hours of sleep.” Then, gaze suddenly very earnest: “Thank you.” Mingyu blushes.

“I feel like I ended up getting more out of this than you did.”

“Are you kidding me?” Minghao laughs, this time full-on. “Waking up at nine _and_ the best dicking of my life? I win.”

“Best of your life, wow, _that_ good.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Minghao shushes him, rolling his eyes. Mingyu climbs over him, knees bracketing his body, hands on either side of his head.

“Round two?” he asks hopefully, grinning.

Minghao punches him in the shoulder playfully. “In your dreams, cowboy. I still have two fucking paintings to deliver. _Also,_ my ass is sore.”

“You can do me,” Mingyu insists. He knows he’s pushing his luck, but he likes seeing Minghao smile at him like he’s doing right now—like Mingyu is an overeager puppy and Minghao is indulging him longsufferingly.

“Oh, I’ll do you alright,” Minghao promises, glint in his eye. “When I’m finally done with the semester from hell, we’re not getting out of this room for 48 hours.”

“Not even for food?”

Minghao shakes his head. “We’ll order in.”

Mingyu leans down until their noses are touching. “Hey,” he breathes out softly. This close up, Minghao’s irises are gleaming. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

“Who’s being corny now?” Minghao raises an eyebrow.

“Yah, shh. I can’t wait to see your work in the gallery.”

 _That_ makes Minghao’s entire face go pink. Mingyu is ecstatic. His heart feels a little bit too big for his chest.

“If you let me get up,” Minghao bargains, “I swear I’ll take a real break at noon, and we can get lunch together.”

“Okay,” Mingyu nods, already pushing himself up. His cheeks hurt a little from all the smiling. “Deal.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on twitter i guess im @yifanapologist (it’s one in the morning i cant do html sue me)


End file.
